Reflection
by PerfectNezumi
Summary: Clare is desperate to see Teresa again, no matter what it takes. Set after end of manga, possible spoilers.
_A/N: I've never written for this fandom or this gender pairing before so this whole story is a little ? Warning for some_ _ **yuri/solo female masturbation**_ _type_ __ _thing, anyway. Enjoy?_

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Two blonde figures dressed all in black stood in front of a formidable gate, dwarfed by the towering walls of an enclosed city.

"Oh _yeah_." Helen stretched her arms above her head and clicked her fingers, heavy claymore swinging on her back. "Holy City of Rabona, welcome back."

"Technically it's welcome back to us, as the city never left," her companion Deneve corrected patiently, adjusting the two swords strapped to her broad shoulders.

"Whatever." Helen waved a hand in dismissal and bounced through the gates as the guards waved them through. "I just can't wait to have a drink. We spent so long travelling through that goddamn yoma-infested wilderness that I deserve a gallon of beer."

Deneve smiled. "You chose to make the trip, remember."

"Yeah, and now I choose to come back." Helen shrugged, tucking her hair behind her ear and nodding towards a woman with long, flowing hair of a similar colour to her own. "And I just found our favourite nun."

Deneve dipped her head in greeting. "Good morning, Galatea. Have you come to receive us?"

Galatea nodded. "Welcome back Deneve, Brash Helen. I felt your yoma energy approaching a few days ago so I thought I would come to greet you. You are welcome to come back to my cottage for tea, if you like."

"We'll take you up on that offer, thank you," Deneve said quickly, before Helen could butt in.

Galatea's milky white eyes were frightening even to a warrior, in the scar that bisected them and the way the seemed to stare right through you. The former number three still carried a regal air despite her blindness, which made Deneve all the more interested in spending time in her presence.

"You can't get alcohol in a nun's house," Helen muttered darkly, but followed without further complaint.

"To be fair, you never specified what kind of drink you wanted," Deneve ribbed her gently. "I'd just like somewhere to sit down. We've been walking for days."

Galatea lived in a small white-weatherboard cottage beside the convent, with ivy spiraling up the trellis covered outer walls. Inside was small, but neatly sparse and cozy.

"Take a seat," Galatea offered, busying herself in the tiny kitchen that bled out from the lounge. "This shouldn't take too long."

The two warriors sat, sliding their swords from their sheaths and setting them down gently beside the coffee table.

"Doesn't really seem like the kind of place one of us would live," Helen commented, eyes sweeping the room. "Seems pretty normal."

"Yes." Galatea smiled, seemingly to herself. "This is my attempt at normal."

"It's a real home," Deneve said diplomatically. "I'd never considered a normal life could be in the realm of possibilities, given what we have become."

"Realistically, once all the yoma are gone and you have nothing left to do a normal life will not just be a possibility, but a necessity," Galatea said. The kettle whistled and she turned back to the kitchen.

"It was a little strange to be let into Rabona without question, given this city's anti-Organisation history," Deneve admitted, nodding as Galatea set a teacup down in front of her. "Thank you. The world is definitely changing, though many in the smaller towns still fear us and scurry away like rats when we pass through."

Helen guffawed. "This is great though. Three warriors drinking tea in a false nun's cottage. It sounds like a children's story."

Deneve elbowed her in the ribs. Galatea just smiled serenely.

"I wanted to ask," the former number three said, "Did you see Clare at all on your travels? I've been tracking her yoma energy and it's worrying. I know she has a great ability in drawing back from the awakened state, but her emotional presence seems to be fluctuating wildly."

"We did see her," Deneve said at the same time as Helen mumbled, "Psycho forty-seven."

"She's fighting yoma after yoma, looking for awakened beings," Deneve continued, ignoring Helen. "She wouldn't say exactly what her goal was, but she is exhausting herself."

"She wouldn't listen to reason," Helen said huffily.

"Reason?" Deneve rolled her eyes. "You threw rocks at her and told her if she wanted to bloody kill herself you'd do it for her."

Helen shrugged. "Well, that was after the reasoning part."

Deneve shook her head. "I'm worried there's a chance she might accidentally awaken."

Galatea stared right through her with unseeing eyes, and when she spoke her tone was deceptively light. "Have you considered that that may actually be her goal?"

.

The warrior seemed to be everywhere at once, the spidery awakened being unable to continue keeping up with her deadly thrusts. Her claymore hacked through its many long, spiked legs, and its guts trailed from its gaping chest.

"Kill me now," the creature moaned, its tearful face and shaking arms the only remainder of its former humanity.

The warrior, panting hard and covered in blood and dirt, ignored it. "Where can I find beings stronger than you?" she demanded.

"Do you have a death wish?" The creature gave a grating laugh despite its pitiful state. "You're in no shape to continue fighting."

"Tell me where to find those stronger than you," she repeated determinedly.

"You my find some to the south of here," the creature imparted begrudgingly.

"Thank you." The warrior swung her blade one more time, and the awakened being's head toppled to the ground with a wet thud, body collapsing inward like a tower of cards.

She leaned on her sword heavily, staring at the steaming chunks of putrid flesh painting the ground crimson without actually seeing them. _It's not enough._

After a short pause she heaved the claymore out of the dirt and plodded south toward the forest, footsteps weaving, the tip of her sword cleaving a winding trail through the sordid earth behind her.

.

 _You always were a stubborn child, tiring yourself out for no reason._

Clare tried to lift her head, but it was too heavy. She could taste dirt. "Teresa?" she called, hating the feeble sound of her voice, and struggled to open her eyes.

She could taste dirt because she was lying in it, claymore inches from her outstretched hand. Struggling to sit up she glanced around, but only nature looked back, distant birds trilling sweetly. She'd made it into the forest, and pushed herself to within metres of a gently flowing river.

Clare held a palm to her forehead and groaned. She must have been hallucinating from exhaustion, no matter how real that voice sounded. It was ridiculous anyway, right? Teresa was dead, and she couldn't feel any yoma energy nearby.

A soft, familiar laugh trickled past her ears and Clare's head snapped around. "Teresa, wait. Come back. Please. Where are you?'

She forced herself to her feet, turning in desperately searching circles before her knees gave out and she collapsed again. Running on sheer determination she dragged herself towards the riverbank, on the slim chance fresh water might clear her head. "I need to see you again. Please."

She didn't care how desperate she sounded. She'd seen Teresa once; she could do it again. She _needed_ to do it again. And then together they could figure out a way to keep meeting, to share a life.

 _What are you talking about? I've always been inside you._

Clare peered into the river, grimacing at her dirty, bloodstained face. Her hair had grown long, past her shoulders. She'd been considering growing it back to the length it had been when she'd met Teresa as a little girl, but seeing it now, matted and greyed, she figured it'd be best just to hack it off again.

For a second her reflection rippled into the faint smile of the strongest number one, but when she reached out to touch it the illusion disappeared. "How come I can't awaken?" Her tone was soft, desperation bleeding at the edges. "I've done everything. I'm beyond exhausted. I've killed every yoma and awakened being between here and Rabona. But you never show up, not like you did before. Please, just tell me how I can meet you."

 _Little Clare, you must stop trying to awaken. You will only lose yourself._

"But last time _you_ were my awakened form. If I just surpass my limit I can –"

 _It won't happen again._

Teresa's voice was gentle but firm.

 _That piece of me was kept alive through your strong desire to defeat Priscilla. There is no longer anything in this world that could conjure up the hatred and determination in you that brought forth me as an awakened form._

"I don't understand."

 _Priscilla was my unfinished business. Now that she is gone, there is no reason for me to exist in any tangible form._

"But I have so much to ask."

 _You must understand that you cannot ask of me anything you don't already know yourself, for I am a part of you._

Clare squeezed her eyes shut. So she really was just running a fool's errand, as Helen had so eloquently told her. "What should I do?"

 _For now, take off your clothes. You need a wash._

Teresa's voice was laughing at her, but Clare did as she instructed anyway, unclipping her cloak and letting it flutter to the ground. Slowly she slipped off her arm guards and rolled the skintight elastic of her boots down her thighs and past her knees, stepping out of them with what little balance she had left. Lastly she tugged her tunic over her head, breasts bouncing as they popped free of the constricting fabric.

 _Oh? Little Clare is not so little anymore._

Clare ignored Teresa's comment and stepped gingerly into the river, drawing in her breath. The water was cool, but not so cold she couldn't handle it. Refreshing, if she thought positively. It rippled lazily around her bare calves as she waded deeper, creating intricate, waving patterns just underneath the surface.

 _Wash yourself._

Clare looked down at her reflection and had to admit that Teresa had been right to instruct her to wash. The yoma she'd fought had inflicted numerous wounds all over her body and while the injuries had all been healed to the point of disappearing the blood had stayed. She scooped up handfuls of water and drenched herself, nipples hardening into wet, pink peaks against the cold. She rubbed her hands hard over her shoulders and down her chest, the grime from travelling and combat melting away into the gently running river. She startled when she felt the ghost of another pair of hands moving up her body.

 _Look down. Look at yourself._

Clare returned her attention to her reflection. She was now clean, skin pale and shining, and a nude, smiling warrior stood behind her. "Teresa?"

 _Relax._

There was no one there, but she could feel the gentle touch against her skin as Teresa's hands rested on her reflection's hips, stroking up her sides and cupping her breasts. Teresa's fingers brushed the tip of her nipple, and Clare shivered.

 _I don't have to explain what to do next, do I? Little Clare._

Teresa's voice was right next to her ear, in her head. Trance-like, Clare lifted both hands to her breasts, feeling their heavy, warm weight in her palms. Hesitantly she rolled a nipple between thumb and forefinger then tugged on it.

 _Wet your fingers._

Clare drew two fingers into her mouth and sucked, swirling her tongue around and between them, saliva dribbling down her chin as she pulled them out with a wet pop. She slowly dragged them down her neck, tipping her head back and closing her eyes, sliding down further to tweak a nipple again.

Teresa's hands were a shadow of her own: caressing, kneading, stroking. She could feel the ghost of Teresa's breasts pressing warm and soft against her back, her breath hot in her ears. Clare gasped as she flicked a nipple with wet fingers and Teresa's ghost pressed a kiss into her neck.

 _This is where I am a part of you._ The hands wandered to where the roughly stitched scar started between her breasts and followed it down deliberately, pressing lightly with dancing fondling fingers, to its conclusion at the tip of her pubic bone. _I marred your pretty skin like this, Clare._

Clare gasped and shivered as the hands drew close to her groin. "I wanted it," she said hoarsely. "I wanted you inside me, to be with you forever."

 _Join me,_ Teresa said, her fingers tiptoeing around Clare's hipbones, down past the waterline, stroking over her sex with only the barest of feather-like touches. _Feel._

Clare trembled, her hands sliding down her stomach of their own accord, joining Teresa's at the apex of her legs. With a shuddering breath she slipped her fingers under the water and between her damp labia, feeling the cool water rush between her legs.

She knew Teresa was smirking against her shoulder. _I'm sure you don't need me to tell you what I want, Clare._

Teresa's hand guided hers up a notch, pressing against a small, hard bundle of nerves. Clare voice hitched as her own fingers danced against her clitoris, tugging, flicking, knees buckling at the feeling of her fingers blurred with the pull of the water.

 _You're such a good girl, Clare,_ Teresa whispered, and she had only a moment's notice before fingers were thrust inside her. Clare cried out, her head lolling back on Teresa's shoulder, her own hands not stopping their movement against her clit as Teresa's slid wetly in and out of her body. _Such a good girl._

Clare moaned, breasts heaving, unable to stop from rocking her hips against Teresa's probing fingers. "That's – ah – _Teresa_ – "

 _Deeper?_

Teresa's fingers pressed harder, faster, and Clare convulsed against her, moaning incoherently. "I can't – "

Clare arched her back, mouth open in a silent scream as her body shuddered to a stop, and collapsed with a splash as her knees finally gave out. The cold water was a harsh wake up, like a slap in the face, and she stumbled blindly to the shore, panting.

 _Feeling better, Clare?_ Teresa's voice danced in her ears, amused.

Clare adjusted her position so she was sitting cross-legged, back straight and eyes closed, on the riverbank. She took three deep, shuddering breaths, and opened her eyes. Instead of her own reflection, Teresa stared back at her from the river. "I'm relaxed now."

The Teresa reflection smiled. _I'm happy to hear that._

"I won't try to awaken again."

 _That's my Clare._

"But how did this happen?" Clare pressed. "How can I make this happen again?"

Teresa's laughter rung loudly out over the river. _You want to do this again, little Clare? So soon?_

Clare stared her down defiantly, unminding of her nudity or the fact that she was arguing with her reflection. "I want to see you in whatever context is possible."

 _I would rather you focus on the present. Run towards your bright future,_ Teresa said, suddenly solemn. _But if you need me, I will always be here. Remember, I am a part of you. You must look inside, not outside to find me._

"Inside," Clare repeated, and bowed her head. "Thank you."

When she lifted her head again the reflection was her own, looking pale and tired but clean, at least. Clare smiled. She would run towards the future so fast that Teresa would have to jog to keep up.

.

The alehouse was buzzing, bodies thrumming in the smoky, tepid air. Clare slipped silently through the crowd, wary of the heavy sword on her back. As she passed the bar a hand grasped her shoulder, jerking her backwards.

"So you finally deign to grace us with your presence, Miss Forty-seven," Helen said with mock admiration, and pushed a full pint towards her, unbothered by the fact that her actions had caused a good third of it to slosh over the bench and onto the floor.

Clare frowned at her newly beer-covered boots, then looked at Helen. "Warriors don't need to drink."

"Pfft." Helen chugged half of her own pint and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Who said anything about need? _Want_ is all the rage."

She gestured to an empty stool beside her and Clare sat down gingerly.

"Hello, Clare."

Clare peered down the bench past Helen to see Galatea smiling softly at her.

"I am pleased your yoma energy has evened out again," the former number three said. "It is good to see you back in the city."

She could see Miria speaking animatedly about something to one of the current generation's warriors in the distance, and between Galatea and Helen Deneve lay slumped over the bar, eyes shut and mouth open loosely. Helen ruffled her short hair roughly and looked down at her sleeping friend with fondness in her eyes. "Should have known better than to challenge the great Helen to a drinking competition," she crowed.

Clare smiled. She didn't particularly like drinking establishments; too noisy, and too many people, but as she looked at her friends she was beginning to realize that this dirty, crowded bar was the foundation of her bright new future. She was surrounded by people who cared about her, and it didn't matter where they were because the places they went were all of their own choosing. They no longer answered to anyone but themselves.

 _Teresa,_ she thought, _This bright future is ours._


End file.
